A hint of heat surfaced in her cheeks. Mina straightened. “I don’t know what you’re speaking about. Come. And make sure you wash your hands. You practically reek of blood and smoke.”

* * *

“’Ere they come again,” Rip murmured.

“How many waves of this can the walls take?” Leo asked. Morioch hadn’t sent the spitfires in yet; no doubt the fear of uncontained fires stayed his hand. He’d see if he could bring them down with just the metaljackets.

Rip shrugged. “This wall were only ever a symbol. Not built as a means to stop an army.”

Not many then, by the sound of it. “We need to bring the battle down into the streets. Stop them before they hit us too hard.”

“They’ll grind us up against our own wall,” Rip pointed out.

“Not if we’re coming at them from both sides.”

The pair of them shared a look. Firelight flickered off the giant’s green eyes, a considering expression on his face. “We go through Undertown. Come at ’em from behind before they even know we’re there.”

“You need to stay here, to be a figurehead for the men and lead this force.” A deep breath. “Who do you suggest should lead the other force?”

Rip stared at him. “You know who I’m goin’ to suggest.”

Christ. “They won’t follow me. They’re Blade’s men. Not mine.”

“None o’ the lads know warfare,” Rip countered. “They know these streets, ’ow to ambush a gent, ’ow to fight, ’ow to kill… But you know tactics. You know ’ow Morioch thinks, ’ow the metaljackets work… All you need’s a few o’ the lads to direct the men and make it clear we’re workin’ for you.”

A certain kind of bleakness settled over him. He was used to command, to control. Why then did he feel so bloody uncertain?

You wouldn’t have hesitated three days ago.

Leo crushed his eyes shut. Where was the “old Leo” with his confidence and his air of command? Would he ever be that man again?

“I’ll do it.” He’d made his sister and Blade too many promises—and this was what he was trained for. With a breathless laugh, he offered a silent prayer of thanks to Caine for teaching him the art of war.

“Good. You’ll need men. Tin Man, Dalloway, Higgins, and Charlie to help direct you.” Rip held up a hand. “No arguin’. This is my command, my choices. I’ll select the rest to go with you.” A slow, fierce smile slid over the man’s hard mouth. “Time to make metal bleed.”

* * *

The room stank of chloroform.

Honoria’s head sagged back and forth, vaguely aware, as Esme held the cloth over her mouth and nose. Blade sat at her side, his fingers clenched in hers and that dark-eyed stare locked on her abdomen.

When Mina had suggested such an operation—knowing the procedure theoretically but not practically—she’d never imagined there would be so many layers of flesh to cut through. Mrs. Parsons worked with swift efficiency, using both scalpel and scissors from her kit and a pair of clamps. Using Lister’s suggestions for antiseptic on the area and then on her hands, Mrs. Parsons had set to work.

Mina only managed to watch for a minute or two, then looked away, swallowing hard. Honoria made a small moan in her throat, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.

“It’s all right, luv,” Blade murmured in her ear. “I’m ’ere. I’ve got you.”

“Baby?” she murmured vaguely.

“The baby’s fine.” Blade looked away from her imploring gaze, patting her hand. “Nothin’s gonna ’appen to either of you.”

Honoria’s head lolled, her consciousness dipping again.

“What are your CV levels coming in at?” Mina asked Blade, to distract them all.

“’Bout forty-eight percent.”

Higher than her own. The higher the virus percentage in the blood, the stronger its healing capabilities would be. “Perhaps we should use your blood to heal her. Mine are thirty-six percent.”

“If this works,” Esme said, “imagine the possibilities. The area of obstetrics would significantly improve if we could guarantee swift healing rates and lack of infection.”

Infection was often the cause of maternal mortality, and judging from her softened frame, Esme had her own stake in this.

“They would need to be vaccinated first.”

“Ladies, please attend, if you would,” Mrs. Parsons said. “Your Grace, would you hand me the clamps?”

It helped if she tried not to think of what she was seeing as a human body. Walling herself off from the procedure, Mina simply moved as Mrs. Parsons directed, holding various metal instruments and squishy body parts out of the way as Parsons continued her swift incisions. Finally a pair of feet appeared, straining inside a thin gelatinous sack. It was the most amazing and disgusting thing Mina had ever seen.

“Oh,” she said.

The wet sucking sound as the baby emerged was not at all what she’d expected. Mina held up the soft linens as a small, weakly struggling, slimy baby was deposited into her arms. Mrs. Parsons cleared the sack off its face and shoved a finger inside its throat to clear the airway. Its mouth opened in a silent squawk, and then suddenly, as if something had been cut, sound erupted. A hearty cry that made Mina jump.

“It’s a girl!” Mrs. Parsons cried, relief leaving her red and perspiring.

“A girl?” Blade said in a shaky voice. “I’ve a daughter?”

Mina swiftly wrapped the child up, holding her awkwardly. “Here. Look at her.”

Another feeble squall split the air. The baby had a wealth of dark hair plastered to her scalp, and her reddened face was all wrinkled up. Blade stared at her as if Mina had just offered to show him the moon.

“Just look at ’er,” he whispered, reaching out to touch the tiny shaking fist that was poking out of the blankets. “’Onor, look, luv. She’s so beautiful. Just like you.”

“I think perhaps we’d best wait to show her until after we’ve stitched her back together,” Mina suggested. “Esme?”

Esme surrendered the chloroform-soaked cloth to Dolly and gently took the baby from Mina’s arms. “Hello there, beautiful. Let me take her and clean her up.”